Page 86 - COVID Consortium Journal - An Edited Collection of Student Art and Writing

Everything became a question. Should I be wearing a mask? Does a scarf
work? Why wade in the thick waters of wondering. Puzzled by the current
state of our society I again ask yet another question; is it even safe to take off
my sweater? Why does everything take consideration? Is it even ethical to go
outside anymore? At my aunt’s house without my mom, I question everything.
More worry blew through me and I had to grab something to keep from top-
pling. I don’t know what to do sometimes. There is no escape from the vortex of
the future. I gulp back the pain of feeling scared.

Cries of confusion engulf minds and drama seems to be a part of our
new routines.

I run to the disinfectant when I touch something so that I am not an ally
of the virus. An unwilling soldier. Fear chasing after me again, I quiver. By
the end of the day, my hands cry for help as they snap and crackle with each
movement like Rice Krispies in a bowl of milk. Chapped, I wash my hands
more, and more, and more. Like an addict, I bear the pain of the scrubbing and
continue on like our lives depend on it, which for some of us, they do. These are
the thoughts that keep me lasting in quarantine.

With my aunt and uncle making sure not to touch me, I think about
how much I crave a hug, but not until the end of the 14 days because they will
not wait outside of the gates, because what if there is nothing? Another worry
reaches an impossible length and I drip. Melting, I fall to the floor. I can’t move.
The worry shakes me. It folds into anxiety, and I open my eyes. “Live in the
moment,” I tell myself. “Be here.”

My family is amazing. I think everyday. Thanking whoever blessed me
with them. What about when I die though, what then. Then will I have them? I
am too happy. How can that be a worry. Yet it is. Nothing can stay this great. It
isn’t fair that I have such a great life. Things can’t be like this forever. Someone
will get sick. I will have to do all of these things that hold me to shake. More fear,
impossible to catch, runs ahead of me. Controlling my mind, it sprints.

I miss my brother, father, and my mother. I want my mom here, and not
about to fall asleep every time she gets home after a 9 hour day of work. I missed
her most on my birthday. I would cry for a while. In the bathroom I would talk
to her to escape my family’s ears. But to escape, I call my brother, and he coos
with joy when he sees me on the screen of the phone. I yearn to touch his plump
cheeks and make him giggle with such force that an earthquake becomes our

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